


Lovers (compare with chapter 5 in full version, also titled Lovers)

by I_am_lampy



Series: The "It's All Fine" Collected Works Deluxe Edition [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: At first, John is nervous about having Gerald in the flat because he sees so much of Sherlock there, especially in the sitting room.





	Lovers (compare with chapter 5 in full version, also titled Lovers)

**Author's Note:**

> In my timeline, this story takes place in May 2012.
> 
> June 2011: (canon) Sherlock fakes his death  
> September 2011: (my timeline) Sherlock fakes his death  
> January 2012: Sherlock is in New Orleans  
> March of 2012: John meets Gerald Glass  
> May 2012: Events of "Lovers"

* * *

At first, John is nervous about having Gerald in the flat because he sees so much of Sherlock there, especially in the sitting room. Two months after he meets Gerald, John has the bittersweet realization that he's gradually let his own personality take over. It’s been eight months since Sherlock died.

John hasn’t changed anything since Sherlock died, but looking around the flat, he sees things that he wants to change, though not anytime soon, and things he might change, but not for a very long time. The bottom line is that he can't cling to Sherlock forever. It's not the _things_ that matter anyway. It's the memories he keeps and the stories he tells. When John is gone, the blog will still be out there in cyberspace, telling their story.

The first time he has Gerald in the flat, John realizes that he absolutely cannot have sex with Gerald (or anyone) in Sherlock's bed. Instead, they stay in John's old room among the boxes of Sherlock's scientific equipment, the prints and decorations from Sherlock's room, and the (many) boxes of his clothes. When John explains why they're not sleeping in the first-floor bedroom, Gerald laughs.

"You won't have sex in his bed but you will have sex up here, surrounded by his things?"

At first, John is indignant and then concedes Gerald has a valid point and perhaps they should move this down to the sofa.

"John," Gerald says kindly. "It doesn't matter where we go. You're in love with him – "

"I _was_ in love with him."

"Are _still_ in love with him and getting over his death, and that will always be with you even after his things aren't. And that's okay. I knew that going in, didn't I? So, whatever you're comfortable with is where we'll go."

John starts laughing and then Gerald gives him truly stunning head that ends in a mind-blanking orgasm, and John falls asleep in Gerald's arms, surrounded by Sherlock's things and feels at true peace for the first time since he saw Sherlock fall from the roof of St. Bart's.

In the middle of the night, John wakes from a nightmare. The bedside lamp is already on and his foggy, nightmare-addled brain can't comprehend why he would be in his own bed, rather than downstairs in Sherlock's bed. He has less nightmares in Sherlock's bed, which is part of the reason he started sleeping there.

Suddenly, everything comes crashing back and he looks around the room for Gerald, but all he sees are boxes of Sherlock's stuff. He grabs his pants off the floor and tugs them on while racing down the old servant's staircase tucked between the bathroom and kitchen. He calls out Gerald's name and finds him in the bathroom, bent over the sink, his hands covering his mouth and nose, blood dripping into the sink. Gerald looks at him guiltily.

"It's nothing," Gerald says, with a wave of his hand, his voice coming out hoarse and congested.

"Oh, God, if I broke your nose...Jesus Christ, Gerald, I'm so sorry. Okay, let's have a look," John says, his heart pounding out _I'm sorry don't leave I'm sorry don't leave I'm sorry don't leave_. He doesn't think he can bear it if Gerald stops seeing him because of this.

Carefully, he peels Gerald's hand away from his face while Gerald looks everywhere but at John's face.

"It's my fault, I – "

"How the fuck is this _your_ fault?" John asks, wanting to sound comforting, but only sounding angry.

"I should know better than to touch a man in the throes of a PTSD nightmare," Gerald says. "I was hoping I could clean up before you realized what had happened."

"Oh, thank God, your nose is fine, but I cut your lip. It's quite a split lip. _Christ_. I must've hit you straight on with my elbow. You're gonna need stitches."

"Well, let me go by myself, then. Otherwise, they'll think you're abusive."

"Gerald, you recall I'm a doctor, yeah? I reckon I can put in a few stitches."

"Are you going to be too afraid to sleep with me again or, even worse, too embarrassed to keep seeing me?"

"What makes you say that?" John asks.

"Because I know how you are," Gerald says. Finally, he raises his eyes to look into John's.

"And here, I thought I had secrets," John says, teasing.

"Therapist," Gerald says, pointing at himself.

"Wait here while I go get my med kit," John says.

Gerald _must_ know him well, because he's right about John being afraid of it happening again and embarrassed about hurting him. Neither of these things are enough to stop him sleeping with Gerald and certainly not enough to stop seeing him, which is a minor miracle. He's changed so much since Sherlock died. He doesn't take anything for granted anymore and he's not going to throw this away because he fucked up.

"I should've told you," John says, back in the bathroom again.

"About the PTSD?"

"Yes."

"I knew," Gerald says, looking sheepish.

"How did you – "

At the same time, they say, "Therapist," and laugh, but then Gerald winces and John shushes him.

"The answer to your question is _no_ , by the way. I'm not going to stop seeing you _or_ sleeping with you," John says while cleaning the wound. When Gerald tries to answer, John says, "No talking," very sharply and Gerald's mouth immediately snaps closed.

"You're very good at taking orders," John says, joking. "Sit."

Gerald drops onto the toilet seat as though his body is controlled by John's commands rather than by his own will. John is suddenly rock hard at the thought. And, of course Gerald will notice he has an erection because he's wearing nothing but his pants.

And now, John's crotch is at Gerald's eye level, but Gerald isn't looking at John's crotch. He's looking up at John's face, his own expectant and calm. Disparate bits of information suddenly come together in John's head forming a coherent picture. This must be how Sherlock does it (did it), although John's pace at putting things together is glacial compared to Sherlock's.

_My sex life is almost boringly vanilla._

_At the time, I was just getting into the Dom/sub lifestyle..._

_I've never slept with anyone I've been a Dom for._

_Whips, yes..._

"You like to sub," he says, his eyes wide with surprise.

Gerald nods and looks away. John realizes something in his voice made Gerald think John's disgusted. John bends and kisses his cheek.

"I'm just surprised is all," John says. "The professional Dom thing threw me."

"That's exactly why I like it," Gerald says, his words coming out slurred as he tries not to move his lips.

Now John's mind is whirring to life with half a dozen questions he wants answers to immediately. Before he gets those questions answered, Gerald's lip needs stitches. If John doesn't do his best, Gerald might end up with a scar, and then, for the rest of his life, anyone who looks at Gerald's face will see the scar left behind by John's hands, including Gerald. So, John will do his most precise, perfect stitches and he can only do that if he's completely focused.

"I'm gonna clean this up now and it's gonna hurt like hell. The face has lots of nerve endings."

Gerald nods, looking wary and grimly determined.

"Also, once I put these stitches in, you're going to spend the next five to seven days having to talk without moving your mouth very much. Will that affect your work?"

Gerald starts to shrug and then shakes his head.

John stares over Gerald's head, his mind whirring. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip in an unconscious gesture and doesn't realize he's doing it until he hears the tiny sound of arousal that comes out of Gerald's mouth. John's eyes flick down to Gerald. John only then realizes Gerald is naked and he's partially hard. John's own erection has flagged slightly, not out of disinterest, but because he's trying to process all this new information without losing focus on the reason they're down here in the first place.

"I don't – " John says and then stops. "Let me think about it and then we can talk about it. _After_ you get your stitches out, though, okay? Just so you know, I'm not interested in punishing you."

Gerald's nod is very solemn.

"I think I might be more interested in doing the Dom/sub thing outside of the flat than in it. Watching you do what I say with everyone looking but not knowing what we're up to? Hot."

Gerald cocks an eyebrow _my, my_ and tries to smile but the tear in his lip pulls. He winces and brings his hand up to his lip.

John snaps, "Drop your hand," before Gerald touches his lip, not to test his new power, but to minimize exposure to germs. (Human hands and mouths have a higher concentration of germs than anywhere on the human body, including the anorectal region.)

Gerald's hand drops into his lap like the tendons were cut, and his eyes snap to John's.

"My God, it's like playing Simon Says, but with erections," John says and laughs.

Gerald tries to laugh too, but he can't open his mouth without pulling on his split lip, so he ends up making a sound like _hoo hoo hoo_ , and John throws his head back and howls with laughter. It echoes all over the bathroom and that makes Gerald do his _hoo hoo hoo_ laugh again, trying not to move his mouth. John has to leave the bathroom for a minute, trying to get himself under control because the more he laughs, the more Gerald laughs. When John walks back into the bathroom Gerald is still sitting on the toilet. His hands are flat on his thighs, his shoulders are back, but his posture is relaxed. It's roughly the equivalent of parade rest, if one was sitting.

"All right, then," John says and avoids Gerald's eyes because he knows if they lock eyes again, he'll collapse in laughter.

He pulls two clean towels out of the cabinet, one for Gerald to sit on (because his poor arse is probably stuck to the porcelain with sweat by now) and one to lay in his lap to catch everything.

"Stand up over here, please," John says. He realizes that if he's going to do this Dom/sub business with Gerald, that's going to be one of his hard limits – he gets to say _please_ and _thank you_ and all the other niceties of social convention. He likes the idea of Gerald doing what he says, but not if it means John's going to forget how to be polite.

John lays down the first towel and tells Gerald to sit ( _please)_ and then he lays the second towel over his lap. He sets some things down on the towel and asks Gerald to hold them ( _please_ ). Gerald does everything he asks with perfect obedience and precision and it's enough to make John dizzy. He's the exact opposite of Sherlock in this situation. Sherlock often went out of his way to do the opposite of what John asked, even when John was stitching him up. He would wiggle and gripe and, in general, be as difficult as possible.

Of course, he would take all the wiggling and whining and griping and love it if he could only have Sherlock back again.

Still, it's a nice change, having a patient who minds him and who doesn't question John's expertise. John's confident that Gerald will follow his directions for recovery as well, and probably to the letter, unlike half his patients at the surgery.

"Be still while I inject the Xylocaine, okay? I don't want to accidentally poke you."

Gerald nods and then turns into a statue. It's a struggle, John can see. He's pushing a needle into the meat of Gerald's bottom lip and, like John said, the face (especially the lips) and the hands are some of the most sensitive places on the human body. Everyone knows a papercut hurts more than cuts three times as big on other parts of the body.

An emotion John can't name swells inside him watching Gerald practically vibrating with the effort to stay still. Actually, it's not just one emotion. He feels proud, accountable, hesitant, aroused, excited. It's something he wants to both barrel into and hide from.

He's proud of Gerald the same way he would be proud of a subordinate who showed the same level of obedience. In the military, this obedience is imperative. In recruit training, you're broken down and then built back up as a soldier. Your safety, and that of your fellows, is dependent on your obedience. When someone yells "down" you don't poke your head over the trench to see what they're talking about. You put your head the fuck down, full stop.

He feels accountable for Gerald because of his obedience, both now and in future, if they take this step. If he gives a command without considering his responsibility to Gerald, then Gerald's obedience can hurt him. He wants to be deserving of Gerald's trust, even though it's clear Gerald has given it freely.

John feels hesitant entering a Dom/sub relationship because he's accountable for the commands he gives _because_ Gerald will be obedient and John's not sure he wants that responsibility.

He's aroused (obvious reasons). He's excited (see _aroused_ ).

He's thinking about all this while he's getting out everything he needs. He pulls on his headlamp (Sherlock always laughed when he put it on – Every. Single. Time.) He washes his hands thoroughly, dries them on a clean towel and then pulls on a pair of nitrile gloves.

"Tell me if you can feel this," John says, pressing around the tear in Gerald's lip.

"I can feel it, but it's mostly just pressure," Gerald says.

"Do you think you need another shot of Xylocaine?" John asks, peering at him out from under the magnifying glass on the headlamp.

Gerald shakes his head.

"You have to be absolutely still, Gerald. No flinching. I don't fancy giving you a split lip and then following it up with an ugly scar. If you think you might flinch, we can come up with a way to restrain your head."

Gerald raises his eyebrow at the suggestion and John shakes his head affectionately.

"Don't confuse medical necessity with an invitation for sexual creativity, Gerald," John says affectionately.

Gerald slumps in mock disappointment.

"Okay, then, let's get this done," Gerald says. "I won't flinch."

Four tiny stitches later, John smears antibiotic ointment on Gerald's lip, but leaves it unbandaged.

"I'm going to write you a prescription for antibiotics and I want you to take them for three days. I'll get you a probiotic, too, so you don't get an overgrowth of yeast in your gut. I have to run to the surgery to get my prescription pad."

Gerald nods, his face suddenly crumpled in exhaustion. John can see the dark circles under his eyes, even more visible on him because of his pale skin. His eyes are bloodshot and his lip is swollen from being smashed, scrubbed clean, injected with local anesthetic and then sewn up. John very gently presses a kiss to the corner of Gerald's mouth furthest away from the cut.

"I'm sorry," John whispers, leaning his forehead against Gerald's. "Do you want to try to go back to sleep? I can give you a painkiller and it'll make you a bit drowsy. Easier to sleep; two birds with one stone and all that. And I won't think you're not a proper man for not pushing through the pain."

Gerald cups John's neck with his hands, his thumbs brushing along John's jaw. He can't really smile, but Gerald's mouth doesn't have to work for John to know how he feels. Gerald's eyes are versatile in their expressiveness.

"Don't think I'm being sentimental, either," John says, pretending to bluff. "I'm just sorry I won't be receiving any of your awesome head."

Gerald chuffs laughter.

"Okay, chatty, first things first, nod yes or no – painkiller?"

Gerald nods, looking guilty for wanting it.

"None of that. You're still macho, even if you take a painkiller. Next – you okay if I run to the clinic?"

A nod.

"You look absolutely shattered, sweetheart," John says. "Let me get you to bed first, yeah?"

John fishes the packet of dihydrocodeineone out of his kit and Gerald follows him to the kitchen. John hands him a glass of water and pushes the pill out of the blister pack and hands it to Gerald, who swallows it back with water and then drinks the rest of the glass.

"You'll have to be careful with that when you're eating and drinking. You'll need straws. Lots of protein shakes and easy to chew food as well."

One of Gerald's talents is cooking and he's _very_ talented, so the look on Gerald's face is positively heartbreaking. John makes a sympathetic face and then looks at his watch. It's almost six in the morning.

"I'm going to wait until Asda opens so I can get a few things for this. Applesauce and stuff. Don't make that face at me! I'm quite upset, too. None of those fabulous blowjobs. I'm beginning to think I love your mouth more than you."

It's meant as a tease, and the words are out before John can consider the implications. Gerald's eyes widen and then drop to the floor. John doesn't need words to interpret what Gerald's thinking.

"I do care, you know," John says quietly, after a very uncomfortable moment in which John tries to remember what they were doing before he accidentally said _I love you_ , but didn't mean it.

Gerald lays a hand on his arm and rubs up and down. _I feel the same_. John smiles and pulls him into a hug.

~*~

A week after John gave Gerald a split lip, they go to a furniture store and John buys a new bed. When it's delivered, he has the workers move Sherlock's bed upstairs and they take away the old bed from the second-floor bedroom.

That weekend, Gerald helps John move all the boxes from the second-floor bedroom to the storage space that faces the street on the second floor. (John didn’t even know the space was there until Mrs. Hudson suggested it in favor of giving away Sherlock's stuff. It answers his question of why his bedroom doesn't take up the whole of the second floor.)

"Mycroft's paying the rent on both rooms," John says, as they look at the almost empty room. "But I can't for the life of me think what to do with it. Quite frankly, I can't be arsed to do anything with it any time soon."

All that's left in the room is Sherlock's old bed, a desk and chair, the bedside table, and a small lamp. John never did anything but sleep and dress in this room. Everything John thinks of as _home_ is located on the first floor. The bathroom on the second floor was never finished, so even using the toilet and taking a shower required him to go down to the first floor.

“You don't have to do anything right now,” Gerald says and wraps his arms around John from behind. “Consider turning it into a guest room eventually. You never know when you might need one.”

“I don’t know enough people to have guests,” John says, turning around in Gerald’s arms.

He leans in to kiss Gerald whose stitches have only been out a day and whose lips John has been aching for. They've avoided sex since Gerald got his stitches. The first time John tried to give him head afterwards, Gerald almost tore his stitches crying out when he came and after John had stopped laughing, they decided to wait.

John loves kissing Gerald. His lips are soft and he's responsive to the tiniest nips and pecks. It's a microcosm of his responsiveness to touch altogether. John asked him a week after they met if he'd always been that responsive and Gerald's eyes had got a bit shifty, prompting John to conclude the answer was no, but Gerald was unwilling to admit it, probably because he was afraid to drive John away with an admission like that so early in their relationship.

"Let's go christen your new bed," Gerald murmurs against John's lips.

John has often compared the voices of Gerald and Sherlock. They both have deep voices, but where Sherlock's was a rumbling almost-bass, Gerald's is a clear baritone. Gerald's voice is sweet; Sherlock's voice was sultry.

When he's aroused, though, the clear timbre of Gerald's voice changes to a hoarser version and, though it still lacks the rumble Sherlock's had, John has a Pavlovian response to that coarser tone. After ten days of deprivation, he's rock hard upon hearing the words spoken in that voice.

" _God_ , yes," John says and tears down the back stairs.

Gerald's lip is still red from the stitches John took out the day before. It'll heal nicely, and the scar will only be visible up close. Every time John looks at it, he remembers Gerald sitting on the toilet seat half-hard, eager to comply with any command John chooses to give. The scar, the voice, and the deprivation all coalesce into one aching mass of need deep inside John and when Gerald stops in front of him in the bedroom, two seconds behind John's more mad dash, John's decision is made.

"I'm ready for you to, to take me." He fumbles the words, not knowing how to ask for what he wants without using words like "anal" and "penetrate."

Gerald's eyes widen in surprise, though he does his best to cover it. They've had lots of anal play, but never sex. They've only discussed it a few times, and each time agreed it was a topic for the future. Gerald's sexual history is tame. He's only had six lovers and one was the six-month fling with his best friend, Cyril. Of those six, Gerald's only had anal sex with two of them. John's had far too many lovers to count, but they were all women.

Still, the one thing they've both agreed on is that John wants to experience bottoming and Gerald, who's always bottomed, would like to try topping.

"Do you still want to bottom?" Gerald asks, trying to mask his eagerness.

"Yeah," John says, stripping out of his dusty, sweaty clothes. "I'm gonna hop in the shower. You can go next, okay?"

"Okay," Gerald says a little dazedly, which makes John grin, showing all his teeth, which makes Gerald groan and remark on the arousing effect of John's high watt smile.

In the bathroom, John gets out the kit he put together on Gerald's advice regarding anorectal hygiene. _All you need is water and a way to get it in. Your body does the rest_. Gerald's advice went a long way to easing John's worries about anal sex, whether it involved a penis or not.

John turns the fan on (no need for Gerald to hear water splashing in the toilet, but John doesn't want to turn the shower on and waste hot water), and then gathers a basin of lukewarm water and a tiny tube of silicone gel. The bulb of the douche kit is clear, which John finds ingenious because he can check for backwash and clean accordingly.

The water comes out mostly clear so two washes is all he needs. He turns the shower on, washes the bulb and tip with hot soapy water and puts it all away to dry on a towel in the lavatory cabinet. Then he washes his hands again and brushes his teeth while the shower is heating up.

The warm spray is fantastic and John makes sure to pay special attention to his crotch and rear. He exits the bathroom on a puff of hot air, scrubbing the towel over his body. His erection has flagged in the fifteen minutes he's spent in the bathroom. He's not flaccid, but his body has retreated to the first stage of arousal. Gerald wraps his hand around John's penis and gives it a few strokes while licking water off of John's neck and John's erection hardens so quickly he's dizzy at the drop in his blood pressure. He sways to a seat on the bed while Gerald raises his eyebrows in smug delight.

Ten minutes later, Gerald is out of the shower and they're kissing on the new bed and ten minutes after that, John is on his hands and knees, already panting with desire. He remembers several women he dated telling him something along the lines of _I need you to be inside me now, dammit_ and John understands the feeling now that he's had his own prostate treated to Gerald's expert touch in the last two months.

He feels like he's being suffocated with the need to have Gerald's cock in his arse, and he won't be able to breathe again until he feels Gerald moving inside him, but Gerald refuses to rush. (Gerald, in general, despite the impression that he's constantly in motion, is a slow and steady person, which makes John crazy sometimes. Gerald is never late, but that punctuality is only achieved by a methodical approach to leaving the house, and John is usually pacing by the front door and checking his watch by the time Gerald is ready to go.)

"You're a fucking tease," John gasps as Gerald works a moderately sized vibrator into John's arse.

The shaft is four inches long, five and a half if you include the "engine" bit. It's roughly equal in circumference to three fingers, part of why John loves it so much. It fills him out nicely and the straight design means he's not likely to hit his prostate straight on when he uses it on himself, which would be too much stimulation to be comfortable. It has a fierce little engine on it, and Gerald has compared John to the vibrator many times, which always leaves John threatening bodily harm.

"Almost there," Gerald murmurs, giving John's back long, firm strokes with his clean hand.

John's erection has flagged, but Gerald has told him that's normal, especially during prep. Gerald is very observant and he notices right away when John starts to get tired of being on his hands and knees. He gets two pillows (also new, like the bed) and coaxes John onto his back, the pillows under his hips.

The new position gives John the ability to touch himself and almost as soon as he does, his cock fills with blood. His arousal is whipped to an even higher level by the sight of Gerald between his knees, a look of wonder and intense concentration on his face. Gerald is looking down at John's arse and not at John himself. John can't wait anymore.

"I'm ready," John says, his voice coming out breathy and tremulous.

"Mm," is all Gerald says, but he pulls the vibrator out slowly and then sets it on the sheet. He looks up at John, his brown eyes turned black with lust and says, "I think you would be more comfortable on top."

The wording confuses John and he opens his mouth to speak, but Gerald clarifies in the next moment when he lies down on his back and rolls on a condom before slicking himself up. John sees immediately what Gerald means. He climbs carelessly on top of Gerald who grunts when John falls onto his gut instead of his thighs.

"Sorry," John murmurs.

"No, God, don't apologize, you look fucking gorgeous. It took all my willpower not to fuck you ten minutes ago."

John positions himself. It's an awkward position in many ways, but Gerald's right in that it gives John more control over the speed of penetration. It just takes some maneuvering to get into place. Gerald ends up holding onto his own cock while John spreads his arse cheeks and lowers himself just enough that the tip of Gerald's cock is at his entrance. He lets go of his arse and puts two hands on the headboard and then uses it as leverage.

It takes a ridiculously long amount of time to get seated. Gerald's not endowed with a porn-worthy dick (though it's longer than John's by an inch in length and at least an inch in circumference), but it's still uncomfortable enough to make him wince and he has to pause periodically, leaning forward, chest pressing against Gerald's face. Gerald takes those opportunities to use his teeth and tongue on John's nipples.

John is an absolute mess by the time his body is flush with Gerald's. He's sweating and desperate to move. Gerald seems cool and unhurried by comparison until he speaks.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , Christ," Gerald says, his throat sounding raw. He clears his throat. "Don't move because I think I'm going to come."

"Really?" John asks, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, fucking _hell_ , John," Gerald groans, and closes his eyes. "Just, just – lift up a bit."

John pushes himself up slowly from his kneeling position and the feeling of Gerald's cock dragging out of him makes his spine shiver. Gerald's hand darts in and squeezes the base of his cock. He takes several deep breaths in and out through his nose. After about a minute, he lets go of his cock and then he nods. He opens his eyes and looks at John and his face breaks into a lazy grin.

" _Christ_ , you look so fucking gorgeous, John," Gerald says.

His hands slide up John's thighs and then up his arms and down his chest. He murmurs wordless encouragement and John begins to move. He puts his hands back on the headboard. It's more of a rocking motion than an in and out motion. He rocks forward and out, then back and in. The drag of Gerald's cock in and out of his body is possibly the most erotic sensation he's ever experienced. The psychological effect it has on him isn't a surprise, but the intensity of it is. One can argue that Gerald's penis is no different than his fingers, which have also been inside John's body.

It's nothing like his fingers, though – not physically and not psychologically. John feels like Gerald has marked him in a way, possessed him, maybe. But there's something else. He feels powerful, almost more powerful than he would if their positions were reversed. Yes, Gerald is inside him, but that's just the thing. He's holding Gerald _inside_ his body. He's wrapped _around_ Gerald. He _surrounds_ Gerald.

The whole thing blows his mind. Nine months ago, he was trying to chat up a woman in a pub. Now he's got Gerald's cock up his arse and it feels more intimate than any sexual encounter in his life. Maybe it's the amount of preparation involved. He can't just push Gerald down and climb on top. No natural lubrication or stretch like with a vagina. You can't blame it on the heat of the moment or the amount of alcohol you drank beforehand. Every action is intentional. You have to make a conscious decision to stretch and slick up your receptive partner's hole.

Maybe it's that. Or maybe Gerald just means _that much_ to John. It's something he's considered before. A future with Gerald, that is.

"Stay with me," Gerald says and John realizes he's stilled.

"Sorry," John says.

"Hand me the bottle," Gerald says, nodding at the bottle of lube.

"I'm fine," John says, thinking Gerald is worried about pain.

"No, this," Gerald says.

He pours a little gel into his palm, rubs it between both hands to warm up and then wraps a hand around John's half-erect penis and strokes a couple of times. He wraps the other hand around John's penis and strokes. John's cock loves Gerald's hands and wants to make sure he knows that, so it stiffens and purrs against his hand as he strokes it.

Gerald looks up at him and John knows – neither one of them is going to last much longer so they might as well just go for it now. There's always time to have a long, slow fuck, but that time is not now. John lifts himself up and slides back down and this time Gerald adds a thrust of his hips as John is on the downslide and it's only a few more minutes before Gerald comes. He asks if John wants to stop and come another way, but John shakes his head and lets Gerald guide him to orgasm with the lift of his hips and his expert hand.

John comes in a blinding rush of sensation. He's never been loud during sex, but he shouts this time. The pleasure is so exquisite it's just this side of painful and it lasts so much longer than any other orgasm he's ever had. His mouth, he's sure, is open in an almost comical expression of ecstasy, but he can't do anything except ride the pulsing beat of his orgasm. He's come with Gerald's fingers or a toy inside of him, but this is more. He doesn't realize he's grinding down on Gerald's cock until the orgasm peters out and he collapses on top of Gerald, gasping like a fish thrown up on shore.

Even after he can speak again, he doesn't. He doesn't want to move. They lie there for a good five minutes. Eventually, Gerald pushes him off with a mumbled _geroff_ and disposes of the condom. He comes back to bed with a glass of water half full which he hands to John. John downs it all then flops back on the bed on his stomach.

"Do you want me to check?" Gerald asks, pointing at John's arse with the glass.

"No," John mumbles. "S'fine."

Gerald puts the glass on the bedside table and crashes into the bed on his side. He throws an arm over John's shoulders. John turns his face to look at Gerald and they grin at each other.

"Good?" Gerald asks.

" _So_ good," John says.

Later, as they're dozing off and on in post-orgasmic lassitude Gerald says, apropos of nothing, "Will you meet my friends?"

John cracks one eye open and smiles softly. He nods and closes his eyes. He doesn't say anything else and neither does Gerald, but something between them has changed. It won't be until a day later that John can put his finger on what's changed and when he does, it surprises him.

For the first time since Sherlock died, John can see a future without him and that future begins with Gerald.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to StarlingGirl30 and Boonchandi for reading, commenting, suggesting, researching, laughing, crying, and in general, taking the time out of their lives to make my writing better. Ladies, you have ruined me for solo work.  
> Email me for any reason whatsoever. I answer every email I get!  
> archiveofmyown@gmail.com


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